


L'appel du Vide

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (in places), Dig - Freeform, Dream Logic, Dreams and Nightmares, FIx It, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Claustrophobia, Stream of Consciousness, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Martin has dreams of falling and is drawn to a place where lightning strikes twice.Set just after episode 92: Nothing Beside Remains.





	L'appel du Vide

**Author's Note:**

> My brain thinks it's a great idea to write and post weird dreamy fic at 2am so....
> 
> I am as confused by the existence of this ship as much as I enjoy it.

Martin dreamt of falling. It’s a common enough dream, falling; a brief sense of vertigo followed by a quick jerk pulling him to wakefulness. Well, perhaps those weren’t exactly dreams, more of an involuntary muscle twitch just as he falls asleep. Hypnic jerks is the technical term, one that came in handy once at pub trivia, justifying that particular Wikipedia dive.

True falling dreams are rarer-- hanging unsupported in the void, not sure if you are flying or falling at first, until all at once you _know_ you are falling (and falling and falling and)-- but not so much so that Martin took particular note of this one. It was a bad dream, yes, but not any worse than he was used to. (A version of him from several years ago would have called them nightmares but now that was just Martin’s new normal.)

Reoccurring dreams weren’t new either. In the past, it used to be Prentiss and her worms but they were showing up less and less. Each night time horror replaced by another as he encountered them more often in his daily life; burrowing worms, dark tunnels, endless corridors.

Especially now that he had started reading _statements_. His nights of late were filled with piles (dig) of endless earth pressing (dig) down on (dig) him, ensuring he will never (dig) see the sky again. So a second night of falling was almost a pleasant surprise, a moment of bliss before the terror set in and forced him awake.

It was the third night of falling that Martin realized something was different. It wasn’t just his lack of fear of the fall. His recurring dreams had always been variants on a theme. Similar events and familiar faces (or lack thereof), but the details, when he could recall them, were not exact.

Not until now.

He was falling-- well floating now, the falling would come later if the pattern held. The sky an endless dark blue. At once a spreading infinity yet somehow wrapping protectively around him. The earth could never ( ~~dig~~ ) consume him here. He belonged to the sky.

A pull in his stomach, thrilling at first, warned him of the danger. His body (he had one now when there had been none before) was too fragile, it had never been meant for this place. He knew the ground was rushing up to greet him, eager to fill him with darkness and pain if the fear in falling did not claim him first.

It was the falling that drew Martin’s attention initially, the thing that linked these dreams-- this dream. Fear had discarded the rest as jumbled nonsense. But it wasn’t nonsense. It was a message.

Lucid dreaming was never something Martin had been able to accomplish with any skill, though he didn’t have to be able to control the dream to recognize locations and landmarks as they grew closer. His viewpoint hovered above yet he saw them as if he were on the ground, seeing them in the waking world. He knew where he was, or rather, where he would land. Had landed. Was destined to land.

His grave.

No, that was wrong, not _his_ grave.

The sky darkened. Gradually and all at once. It had always been storming, blue never existed and neither had color. Light flashed through the sky, back-lighting the thick clouds. Thunder rumbled around Martin as he fell, the air was thick and heavy, though he shouldn’t have been able to tell from the way it rushed past. Tension pulled like a wire through him, through everything, he was buzzing with it.

This part was new, unfamiliar territory not tread the night before, but he knew where to look. Something needed to be shown so desperately it clawed its way in-- to hijack his subconscious. Fighting this was unthinkable. The answer to the question never asked: _why would he_? He belonged here in the sky, in the storm, a witness to--

He focused on the spot, the grave. Below it to where something (someone?) waited for the world to shatter.

He couldn’t hear his own screams over the roaring in his ears or see through the searing light. Pain tore through every nerve ending, tracing exquisite details as his world exploded throwing him from himself--

His body.

His body sat bolt upright in his bed, gasping for breath. Martin wasn’t in it. Not yet, not exactly. Falling still, about to hit, but not to crash.

Awareness lagged behind overwhelming sensation. He felt torn and broken and more alive than ever before. His breathing slowed and the white blanketing his vision became spots and faded. He was catching up to himself. His whole body shook with adrenaline and the afterimage of pain never felt.

Dawn had come without Martin noticing. He was fairly certain that it had been dark when he had woken up, probably. He was feeling... not exactly like himself, but better than he was. Strangely motivated, actually.

That should worry him, after the night he had but any concerns were brushed away before they could form. The Magnus Institute didn’t accept statements about dreams, specifically excludes them even. Bringing his worries to Jon would only serve to earn annoyance from the man who he lo-- Who he’d barely seen since his return last week.

No, it was just a silly dream. An incredibly vivid, strangely soothing, terrifying, chaotic, and painful… silly dream.

“That’s it,” Martin said aloud as he swung his legs off the bed to firmly plant them on the floor. “There’s only one way to deal with this.” _This is a bad idea, I shouldn’t--_ “No! It’s a nice day, no storms. It’s not all that far away.”

He pulled on his clothes as he debated with his internal monologue. _We all have nightmares. If it_ is _something (it’s not, it can’t be, not really) then I’ll need proof before anyone will take me seriously. (no one takes you seriously, they nev-) Hey! Stop that! It’s not helpful. Besides, I could do with some fresh air. Right?_

Before leaving his flat he booked a car share for the day and just like that, Martin was walking outside. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight, _likely a product of having spent too much time cooped up in a basement, I have to go outside more_. There were a few cars closer to his flat he could have picked but he wanted the walk.

While passing over a bridge, Martin glanced over the side. For a split second he imagined himself jumping the railing to fly over the edge-- to become one with the sky, if only for a moment. He shook his head and picked up the pace until the bridge was behind him.

The drive took longer than he thought, a combination of heavy traffic and poor route choice. He knew where he was going but wasn’t taking the most direct way to get there. That was fine, Martin wasn’t in a hurry and he enjoyed the leisurely pace as he passed new and familiar sites. As he got closer there were more and more things he recognized despite a growing suspicion that he’d never actually been this route before.    

He was close enough now that the anticipation arriving overrode any trepidation he had (should have had). The clock in the car wasn’t working and Martin didn’t want to dig for his phone while driving just to check the time. Judging from the sky though it was late afternoon. He should be able to get there, enjoy a walk the late April weather, and be on his way home before nightfall.

Gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way across the tiny lot to the tree line. He smiled into the air as he zipped up his jacket against the breeze. It was good to get out of the city for a while, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t do it more often. The sky was so _big_ without all the buildings crowding down on you.

The smell of smoke pulled Martin from his revery. He cast his eyes about and saw a fallen tree a little bit away. Getting closer he saw it had been split into jagged pieces with black charing around the edges. He’d never been this close to something destroyed by lighting before, at least not this recently. The scent of ozone still hung heavy in the air.

Had it rained? When? He would have noticed. When he set out on the path the day had been bright and beautiful. Now the sky was as grey as eyes he had only seen in a dream. ( _what?_ ) His coat was soaked through and he was shaking, thought not from the cold.

The smell was so strong, how had he not noticed it as he approached. Martin started to feel dizzy not from the smell but the crushing feeling of deja vu. He felt his stomach fly to his throat and he dropped to the floor. Something was wrong with the ground beneath his fingers. They pushed into the soft earth (dig) far easier than they should. The soil had been recently disturbed, something (dig) was buried here.

Fear fluttered in Martin’s heart as he pressed down his hands (dig) again and again, pulling away sodden chunks of (dig) earth. The statement that haunted his (dig) nightmares until the feeling of glorious falling replaced them, had found a (dig) way to claim him after all. Still on (dig) his hands and knees, Martin’s hole was past his elbows (dig) and still going strong. He wanted to stop, (dig) this wasn’t like Enrique MacMillian’s experience, there was no joy in it for Martin. The deeper he (dig) got the more (dig) terror he felt. Maybe if Martin had succumbed (dig)to the book’s call when he’d seen it in Artefact Storage--

He’d lost his will but kept his mind. (dig)

His body pushed on despite his every attempt to stop.

Dig

 

Dig

 

DIG

 

DI--

 

Strong hands grasped Martin’s wrists keeping them from clawing into the earth. He wasn’t sure if he should scream in fear or weep with relief. His fingers spasmed, (DIG) seeking desperately to bury themselves in the soil and pull Martin in behind them.

Martin did scream when a man’s face emerged from the ground. Dirt fell away to reveal pale skin marred by what appeared to be a bullet wound over his heart and angry red mark branching its way across his neck and chest. An old wound recently reopened. He was surprisingly calm for someone who had apparently been shot and buried alive.

“Wh- what? I--” Martin gave up trying to speak as his body betrayed him, wrestling against the grip on his arms to _DIG._

The man actually smiled as Martin fought against him. Not the mocking smile he would have expected to see on someone holding him captive, but a gentile, polite smile. Friendly almost, despite the ghoulish circumstance.

“As much as I appreciate the enthusiasm, you can stop digging now. I can get the rest myself.”

“I- I don’t think I can. I _need_ to--” He cut himself off before he could say it, afraid to give the word voice in case that would increase its power over him.

“Mike, by the way. And you are?”

Martin was so thrown by the exchange that he stopped struggling for a moment. “Uh, Martin.” He paused to gather as much of himself as he could. “Did you do this to me? I- I’ve heard statements that mention you, You’re Michael Crew, right?”

“Please, I prefer Mike.” He sighed, “so you’re another one of them then?”

“What?”

“You mentioned _statements_ , you must work for the Magnus Institute. I’m actually rather cross with your Archivist right now.”

“Jon?” Every word out of Mike made things more confusing for Martin. “What did he-- You know what? That’s not important right now.”

“Seeing as how it’s the reason I died, I’m inclined to disagree.”

Martin managed to slip a wrist away from Mike to bury it as deep as the loosened soil would go. Mike frowned at Martin and let go of his other hand. He immediately pushed it down next to the first with a sigh and began to scoop. Mike gave a little half smile and shook his head before recapturing Martin’s hands in his own.

“Thank, you.” Martin mumbled despite struggling against his grip.

“I should be thanking you. I have no idea how you found me, especially in your current state.”

“It wasn’t this bad until just now! I had some trouble after recording the statement. I’ve had problems with claustrophobia since-- It doesn't matter. But the falling dreams pushed all that away like..” He let out a dry laugh while staring at his squirming hands. “Like magic.”

“Falling dreams, you said?”

“Yeah, a great, open sky that went on forever. It was like flying, at least until I saw the spot where I knew I would hit the ground.” He nodded to the hole they still sat in. “I had it for a few nights but last night there was--”

“A storm? Lightning?”

A pained look crossed his face as he nodded weakly. “It hurt _so_ much, I thought it might kill me, even if it was a dream.”

“Martin, you- you saved me.” He swallowed. “You, and acolyte of the Beholding. I’m not sure how to thank you.”

Martin’s whole body was shaking with the _need_ to just _DIG_ yet Mike held on, keeping him from burying himself any deeper. “Could you, maybe... help save me back? I don’t know how long I can last like this.” Tears spilled from Martin’s eyes, running tracks through his dirt covered face. “I can’t- not here. Not like this, please.”

Martin’s body had started to thrash in an effort to break free. Mike was strong but his small frame meant that he did have to shift to get a better grip on Martin, releasing his wrists to wrap him in a tight embrace. The smell of ozone had dissipated but now returned as Martin felt a cool breeze across his neck, Mike’s breath tightening his skin into gooseflesh.

“Martin, I want you to close your eyes and remember your dream. Remember the falling, the open sky around you, the forever. The ground doesn’t and never has existed, only the Vast.” Martin exhaled and started to relax into Mike. “Are you there?”

“Yes, but the ground, it- it’s opened up for me.” His breathing sped up. “It wants me, to bury me.”

“It can’t have you Martin. I got here first and I’m not letting you go.”

“You promise?” Martin’s voice shook when he spoke, like he was afraid to hope only to have it snatched away from him.

“Fall, Martin.” Mike’s lips ghosted along his ear. “I’ll catch you.”

Martin gasped as the world dropped away. The ground might still be there somewhere but if it was it didn’t matter. Whatever claim that book tried to lay into him, Mike stripped away in a rush of wind and vertigo. His arms, now under his full control, wrapped around Mike and held on like his life depended on it.

“This is amazing.” Martin gasped, eyes still closed.

“It gets better.”

“Better?”

“Better.” Mike whispered, his tongue flicking out to tease at Martin’s earlobe. Martin let out a surprised moan as Mike nibbled there. He ran gentle kisses along Martin’s jaw before slowly coming to land on his mouth.

When Martin pulled back for air they were on the ground again. He would think they never left except for the fact they were now standing several feet away from what was once Mike’s grave.

“Oh, wow,” Martin gasped between breaths. “Wow. So _that’s_ what they mean by the pull of the vast.”

Mike smiled at him conspiratorially. “If you wanted a hand job, you could have just asked.”

Martin’s eyes went wide with embarrassment and his face flushed hot at the innuendo. “That’s not- I mean- I meant- It’s a French term for when you get this sudden urge--”

Mike cut him off with a kiss. He pulled back and brushed a stray wisp of hair behind Martin’s ear. “I know what you meant, Martin. L’appel du vide. But you got the translation a bit wrong, it means the call of the void.”

“I was never very good with French.” Martin said sheepishly, ducking his head.

“Hey,” Mike lifted Martin’s chin so their eyes met. “I’ll be the judge of that if you don’t mind.”

Mike leaned in to kiss him again. This time, Martin took the hint and pressed his tongue against lips that eagerly parted before him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing started because I wanted an excuse to make that "pull of the vast" joke
> 
> I don't know whether to apologize or take a bow


End file.
